


Winged Creatures

by YouShouldSeeMeInACrown



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Doctor John Watson, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, On Hiatus, Science Experiments, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouShouldSeeMeInACrown/pseuds/YouShouldSeeMeInACrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world's only Consulting Detective may have come across more than he can handle when he finds himself as part of the experiments of a madman. The tables have been turned and Sherlock may not come out of this as the same man, in more ways then one, between his body going through unexpected changes and John being-- well, an Army Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cornered

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd, which means my haphazard writing may or may not cause corneal damage. Please leave any constructive criticism below, I always want to improve. Thanks and enjoy.
> 
> Rated for future chapters.

"Shit." John cursed at his back hit the closed door of the flat. The adrenaline from the chase finally wore off causing his legs to turn to jelly and he gingerly slid down the door until he was in a sitting position. He risked a glance down at his knee to see the bleeding had mostly stopped from the stabbing he'd received not too long ago. 

Sherlock and John had been out on a case that ranked as a 9 for Sherlock, which seemed to be a rare occurrence these days. Lestrade had called them late in the night sounding rather flustered as he rapidly fired out the details of the crime in an attempt to lure Sherlock out. He had succeeded and not long after the pair had found themselves out in the biting February air staring down at a mutilated corpse. 

"John, what do you see?" The question coming from Sherlock had startled John out of his own head as he peered down at what appeared to be a mass of limbs that numbered too high to be from one person. 

"Well, it looks as though this is the remains of more than one person. But judging from the amount of blood around where each of the extra limbs connects to the main body, this wasn't just a dump of body parts. This was planned out for some time in advance." John smiled, pleased with his deduction, but it was quickly erased as he saw the look on Sherlock's face that told him his words had not been as on point as he had thought. 

"John, come closer and tell me what you see again." Sherlock beckoned John to kneel closer to the corpse and held out his magnifying glass to the other man. One gloved finger pointed at the place where a hand seemed to juncture the center of the man's shoulder blade. John took the glass and leaned in closer, his mouth falling open as he got a better look. 

"It's connected. These fingers are coming out of this man's back. Wait-" John continued to stare. "These aren't fingers." He gently moved one with the back of his knuckle as he examined it. "The bone structure looks like-- wings."

This is what had led them on a wild goose chase across half of London trying to grasp clues that slipped through their fingers as fast as they could grasp them. Sherlock worked himself into a frenzy; not eating or sleeping, and becoming more agitated as each new mutilated body turned up. 

"Wings, wings, wings...." The words echoed around the flat every time Sherlock paced, seeming to penetrate into the very wallpaper. John had taken up his usually duty of making sure the consulting detective ate something at least every other day. He felt a bit like a mother hen at times, clucking over her unruly chick. Sometimes the amount of patience he exhibited towards the other man surprised even himself. But years in the army had taught him to think situations through, and it was very difficult to rile him into a state of anger. This, he supposed, was what made him so qualified to fill the space at Sherlock’s side. He was one of the only ones willing to do it.

The tea kettle whistled as John padded into the kitchen, quietly observing the many crime scene sketches covering the far wall of the flat. John tiptoed into the sitting room holding an outstretched mug of tea as one would hold a leg of lamb out to a lion. "Text from Lestrade."

Sherlock’s head snapped up before the words had fully left his mouth, and Sherlock became a whirling cloud of scarf and coat and shoes. John barely had time to react as his own coat came sailing across the room. “Get your shoes on, let’s go.” Sherlock barked as he yanked the laces of his shoes together.

With a sigh, John complied, and soon they were on the street. John shivered at the feeling of the cold air rushing through every crevice in his clothes as they stepped outside and began walking at a brisk pace while trying to hail a cab. 

The pair found themselves soon after at Bart’s, staring at a newly mutilated corpse, with a wide eyed mortician standing behind them. “How is this possible Sherlock?” Molly breathed as she looked upon the newest tangle of limbs in the aftermath of the killer’s latest victim. Sherlock didn’t reply; his eyes rapidly moving back and forth as he absorbed every detail.

This body was different from the four others preceding it. The others had been marked with painful looking bone structures sprouting from their backs in various shapes and sizes, but all mildly resembling the wings of one species or another. But this victim was unlike all the others in that protruding from the flesh of two large, overgrown shoulder blades, were what appeared to be the beginnings of feathery down.

“Need more info.” Sherlock muttered as he plucked one of the ‘feathers’ from the back of the man and rushed off to use the lab equipment, leaving John and Molly behind. 

“What’s happening?” Molly inquired of John, her eyes wide with fear. “I’ve never seen anything like this, does Sherlock have any idea what is going on?”

“I never know what’s going on inside that man’s head, but it appears as though he doesn’t know either. He’s been an absolute mess the past week. Almost as bad as I’ve ever seen him. Well, at least recently.” John looked back down at the corpse, willing away unpleasant memories of similar obsessions with the detective. He hated seeing Sherlock this worked up, knowing it would lead to an equally bad crash after the case was over. 

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” The look in Molly’s eyes mirrored John’s. They were both at a loss as to how to help end this quickly, but both desperately cared for Sherlock’s well-being.

“Will do, Molly.” John gave her a weak smile as he left the room to find Sherlock. Sure enough, he located the elusive man in the lab, hunched over a microscope.

John tapped his fingers on the table, knowing he wouldn't be able to get Sherlock's attention even if he wanted to. He decided to amuse himself with organizing a stack of Petri dishes sitting out in the open. 2 hours later of stacking and restacking along with many bored sighs and glances at his phone, John finally decided to speak up. "You been glued to that microscope for hours now without so much as a peep. Is everything alright? You'd think that picture would have fused with your DNA by now. "

"DNA? That's it John, you're a genius!" Sherlock proclaimed as he leapt from his seat and began to sweep up his belongings. 

"Not that I don't enjoy the compliment, but would you mind telling me how exactly you came to this conclusion?"

"It's obvious John, I can't believe I didn't see it until now. DNA manipulation. The mutilations and now these feather like growths. He's trying to grow wings on a person." The glee in his voice was evident. 

"Alright, but why?"

"That's what we need to find out." With a sweep of his coattails, Sherlock was out the door, John in close pursuit. 

"Where are we going now?" John called ahead. 

"To see Lestrade. He has the final piece of the puzzle."

This seemed to be one of the rare occasions Lestrade was happy to have Sherlock barge into his office. His mouth twitched up as he spoke "What have you got? Did you figure it out?"

"No, it's what you've got." Lestrade seemed puzzled. "I need to see the files. He's doing DNA manipulation and there are only 23 possible people in London with those capabilities. I can narrow it down to one if you'll let me see them."

"Of course." Lestrade said as he opened the filing cabinet containing info on all the current cases and handed the appropriate file to Sherlock. 

John got to the count of 16 in his head when Sherlock let out an exclamation and began telling Lestrade the details of where to find the man - Charles Cooper - and how to capture him without letting him destroy and evidence. 

Quick as a whip, like always, John thought fondly as he watched Sherlock's eyes take on the dazzle of excitement that appeared when he knew he could solve a case. 

It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be a lot of things. But a new officer had come along, and he was already nervous from the berating he'd received at the hands of the detective. So when a mutated creature crept toward him from the shadows, he fired; and the whole plan fell apart. 

John and Sherlock froze at the sound of the gunshot and then immediately began running after the retreating form of Charles Cooper. They ended up in the alley behind the building, searching for which direction he went. 

"Go left. I'll cut him off the other way." Sherlock instructed John as he dashed away.

The cold air felt like paper cuts slicing across his skin as John ran as fast as he could down the alley. Looming shadows occupied every corner, and John could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he drew upon a dead end. Nothing. Nobody.

Just as John was about to turn around, he felt a gloved hand slide over his mouth, and a disturbingly cold piece of metal make contact with his neck. 

“Scream and you’re dead,” whispered the voice, dripping with more malice than John had ever heard in person. “Get on your knees, and don’t struggle.” John complied.

The mystery man pulled duct tape from one of the many pockets in his dark cargo pants and began to wrap John’s hands, finishing with one piece placed over John’s mouth like the bow on a present. John kept his composure, staring boldly into the man’s eyes, daring him to do something. The man grabbed his face roughly, eliciting an almost inaudible grunt from the kneeling man. 

“I can see why he keeps you around. Charles Cooper, at your service,” said the man, as he turned John’s face either way, inspecting him like a prize horse. “Now tell me where the great Sherlock Holmes has gotten off to, and this will be painless for both of us.”

Charles ripped the tape unceremoniously from John’s mouth, but he did not permit himself to satisfy the man with any sign of discomfort. The cold blade appeared again and made contact with the soft skin of John’s face. Charles ran the edge over the slight stubble that was growing there and continued down over John’s neck and shirt, relishing the sound the blade made as it scraped along the skin. 

“Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours before Sherlock gets to it.”

John continued to stare, imagining his eyes were lasers burning into the flesh of Charles’ body. A smirk appeared on his lips as he thought of the sound Charles skin would make as it were burned by the lasers of his eyes.

“I see you choose the hard way.” Charles coughed as he raised the knife and dug it into the flesh just above John’s left knee. John let out a gasp and bent forward as the pain shot up his leg. But he’d dealt with worse. If he could just keep Cooper distracted for long enough, Sherlock or one of the officers would find them and it would all be over for the madman. A clatter sounded down the alley, and both men looked up.

“Looking for me?” Sherlock quipped, as he stood at the opposite end of the alleyway. His face appeared as confident as ever, but John read the slight insecurity that showed after seeing John in such a vulnerable position.

“How nice of you to show,” the menacing smile reappeared on Charles face as he saw his prey. 

“Well I don’t come easy” Before either of the kneeling men could blink, Sherlock was dashing back down the alleyway.

“Shit!” Charles cursed as he came back to his senses. He stood up and took off after the silhouette disappearing into the inky darkness, forgetting about his previous prisoner.

John’s body sagged as soon he came to the realization he was no longer in direct danger. But a pang in his leg reminded him that Sherlock was still in quite a lot of danger, especially after using himself as prey for a madman. He looked down to see thick rivulets of blood seeping through the leg of his trousers around the handle of the small pocket knife still protruding from his flesh. He began to rotate his hands in an attempt to loosen them from the binds of the duct tape. After a few tries he finally worked them lose enough to be pushed from his wrists, giving him freedom. 

John’s hands hovered over the blade of the knife, distant memories of sand and gunshots echoing through his mind. Without further hesitation he gripped the handle and removed the 3 inch blade in one swift movement. It clattered onto the pavement as John gasped, trying to draw air into his stinging lungs. He grunted and braced a hand against the wall to bring himself into a standing position.

“John, dear God!” Lestrade called from the other end of the alley, gun clenched tightly in hand. He raced to John’s side. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“He set himself as bait, the bloody idiot. Cooper and him went racing off down that way last I saw either of them.” John’s voice showed no sign of his pain and he straightened up as Lestrade nodded and dashed off.

As soon as the man was out of sight, John let out a breath and his body sagged once again. He couldn’t believe he’d once again lost everything to be left out on the side walk at the end of the night. Worried, alone, and wondering if he’ll ever see the cloaked man again, John limped to the curb to hail a cab, blood still dripping down his leg.


	2. Unexpected Changes

John awoke with a start to the sensation of falling. It took a moment to realize that he was being shoved forward by something large and hard. Military instinct took over and he sprang to his feet, ready to face his attacker. After spinning around and delivering a swift blow to the soft body behind him, John came to two realizations.

The first was that jumping to your feet after having been stabbed in the leg hours earlier was probably not the brightest idea. The second was that Sherlock had been trying to open the door that John had fallen asleep against after he arrived home last night. He blinked as he looked at Sherlock cradling his face from where John had just punched him, a line of red on his now split lip.

“Dammit John, that was completely unecessary.” Sherlock huffed.

“Well maybe if I didn't constantly live in fear of being kidnapped or attacked it wouldn’t be a problem. Running about at night chasing all manner of insane people and leaving me behind to worry like a ruffled hen in your wake.” John turned away and attempted to pace. He didn't get more than two steps before he was reminded of his injury, and the thought brought something else to mind. A smile broke through John’s face and he limped forward to pull Sherlock into an embrace. “But I’m glad you’re all right.”

He felt Sherlock stiffen in his grasp and took a step back, “You are alright, aren’t you?”

“Of course John, don’t be ridiculous. I know how to handle myself in dangerous situations. I’m in once piece aren’t I?”

“Well that remains to be seen. Do you have any injuries? Even if you don’t think it’s bad, I could have a look anyway; better safe than sorry.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” Sherlock snapped. He folded his arms over his chest.

“If you’re so fine, then you won’t mind me having a look, hm?” John smiled gently.

Sherlock blinked as he witnessed John slip into his doctor mode like a worn sweater and felt his own shoulders sag just a bit in response to the at ease manner of the man before him. John reached forward and unfolded Sherlock’s arms, taking one in his grasp and tugging the detective towards the couch.

“It’ll only take a moment. If not for you, then do it for my own peace of mind.”

“Of course, because my own word is hardly good enough.” His attempt at being sardonic fell flat as John simply glanced up unfazed.

“You may have my complete trust when it comes to matters of forensics and identifying brands of tobacco, but when it comes to your own body I hesitate to believe a single word.” 

“Then do what you must. But I have things to do, and I need to talk to Lestrade.” Sherlock said as he flopped down upon the couch and began typing away furiously at his mobile. 

John decided to take what he could get and try to examine the unruly detective as best he could. He sat down on the edge of the couch and began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. He noted the minute flinches that were elicited every time he brushed against flesh, as if the man were unused to being touched. 

Once the shirt was open he began his inspection, palpitating his chest and taking his heart rate. John noticed that it was suddenly silent. Sherlock sat with his face in much the same manner as it had been before, but his typing on the keys had stopped.

“All right?” John asked.

“Perfectly fine. Please continue.”

John resumed his ministrations, sliding the sleeves of Sherlock’s shirt down so he could inspect his arms. He always liked to be reassured that Sherlock was staying clean. John squinted at a small bump nestled in the crevice of the elbow. There was a slight red rash around the area and John could feel his blood rushing to his head.

“Sherlock, you-“ He looked up, but the detective still had his eyes glued to the phone, “You haven’t been-“

“If you’re trying to ask whether or not I have been injecting myself with drugs, the answer would be no. Cooper just gave me a light sedative, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Light sedative? This madman injected you with something and you didn’t think to bring it up until now? How do you even know what it was? It could have been anything-“

“John.” The baritone in Sherlock’s voice rolled across the room, causing the doctor to stop. “If I had any reason to be concerned I would have told you. You are my doctor after all, and it was just a sedative. I managed to have half of the London police force barge in before he could get any further, and I am safe and healthy.”

John felt locked in eye contact with the man, wanting desperately to believe him, but having his doctor’s intuition whispering in the back of his mind that something was still not quite right. 

“Alright then. Well let me just finish here and you can be on your way. I just want to see your back. Rest my fears.”

The taller man complied with the simple request and rolled on to his side, the shirt now falling away from its precarious position around Sherlock’s shoulders. John ran his hand down the length of Sherlock’s back and the man arched underneath him.

“I know you would rather be elsewhere, but do try to hold still. This will only take a moment.

“Apologies. Just not used to being touched there.”

John raised an eyebrow as his suspicions about the frequency of the detective’s physical contact were confirmed. He tried to be a bit more gentle as he inspected two bruises that had flowered across his shoulder blades. They did not appear to be the result of anything serious, and with the way John had seen the man throw himself around during the height of a chase, he was surprised he hadn’t found any bruises earlier.

“Alright, done. You passed the test. Congratulations.” John rose to his feet and began to turn away when his arm was caught in a firm grasp. He looked down to see Sherlock looking up at him, his eyes wide and an air of vulnerability about him.

“John, I-“

“What’s the matter?” Fear rose in the back of John’s throat.

“Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you. For your concern. And things of the like.” Sherlock released his grip and rolled back to face the couch once again.

“You’re welcome.” John said, rolling the phrase around his mouth, unused to having the opportunity to say it out loud. Receiving no response, he padded from the room to turn in for the night.

Lestrade stopped by early the next morning to get the case details from his star eye witness. Sherlock was none too happy to have to go over the 'useless' details of the case while he was busy trying to puzzle out motives and chemical compounds to alter genes. 

“Sherlock, its not useless if its something that could mean this man walking free again on the streets to try doing more horrific experiments on innocent bystanders.”

“Innocent, please. The first victim was a habitual gambler with loan sharks on his tail. It was only a matter of time before that same fate was handed to him. The second and third victims were both drug addicts and one had even begun delving into prostitution to support it. The ones after that followed a similar trajectory. So he wasn't just picking random passerby, he was choosing people he considered to not be a loss to society.” Sherlock flipped away from Lestrade as if he had just provided all the details necessary to win the trial.

Lestrade sighed and continued his line of questioning over the course of the next half hour, Sherlock becoming increasingly fidgety as time went on. John peered at him over the top of his newspaper as he paced across the living room firing off information while Lestrade scrambled to write everything down. Sherlock finally came to a stop by the doorway and began rubbing his back up and down across the frame trying to scratch it. The scratching continued for some time until John finally spoke up.

“Is everything alright? You're acting as if you've been sitting in a nest of ants.”

“Fine.”

“Maybe you're itchy because you need a bath. You were rolling about in the streets for hours and you haven't changed since.”

“John, leave playing mummy to Mycroft. He's much better at it.”

“Well as it seems you two are having a bit of a spat, I'll be off then. Call me if you have anything Sherlock.” Lestrade got up from his seat and let himself out the door. 

John continued to watch Sherlock pace and scratch, not wanting to shower more out of defiance than anything. After a short while, he let out an exasperated sigh and stomped towards the bathroom. John stifled a smile with his teacup.

Sherlock had been in the bathroom for approximately 35 minutes when John finally began to worry. Sherlock's showers usually lasted around 6 minutes, being as efficient as possible so as not to waste time, and this was the longest John had ever seen him in the bathroom at one time. He walked down the hallway and tapped on the door.

“Sherlock, is everything alright?” There was a crashing noise and John's instincts took over. He slammed the door open and barged inside to find a very frightened looking detective peering at his back in the mirror.

“But it was just a sedative.” Sherlock whispered as one had clutched the towel wrapped loosely around his waist and the other reached around behind him to gently prod at one of two protrusions coming from his back. They weren't more than 5 inches in size, but they were large enough for both the men to know immediately what they were.

John stepped forward and gently moved Sherlock's hand away from the mass. He reached up and pressed two fingers near the base. The taller man gasped and dropped his towel. John took a step back and held his hands up. 

“Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you. I just need to check these things out.”

“It didn't hurt, it was just – unexpected.”

“Alright, well expect it this time.” John reached back up and felt around the base of the wing growths. He hesitated to call them wings, hoping against all hope that that was not what these things would turn out to be because no one else had survived the treatment up till now, and John didn't want to have to tell Lestrade to add another victim to the list.

He moved his fingers up to inspect the mounds themselves and was surprised to find that they felt like many small bones trapped under the surface of the skin. 

“John--” He stopped his movements as he heard his name called out in a strangled voice. John looked down to see two white knuckled hands gripping the sink and a very flushed detective naked from the waist down.

“I'm not hurting you am I?”

“Far from it.” Sherlocks grip tightened reflexively on the sink at his own words. “I have to go. There's no time for this. Who knows how long I have before this runs its course and I'm lying dead. I'm going to Barts.”

“Like that? I think you should stay in the flat for now. We don't know what other side effects this might have and I don't want you convulsing while holding toxic chemicals in some secluded lab room.”

“Must you really be so dull John? If I can't figure out what exactly is happening to me, I will be reduced to a convulsing puddle of feathers shortly. Now is the perfect chance to figure out what is going on because I finally have a live specimen to study. Now if you don't mind.” Sherlock kneeled down and carefully covered himself with the towel once more, but didn't turn around to leave. John seemed to understand what he was waiting for. 

“Sherlock I'm a doctor. It's not like I haven't seen it all before.”

“Well seeing as how you are so concerned with social graces, I had doubted you would be comfortable with me prancing about the flat with an erection, so I was trying to spare you the trouble. But now you've forced it out into the open, quite literally, so I can't be accused of stealing your innocence at the sight.”

John stood in the doorway with his mouth open as Sherlock brushed past him to get changed in his own room. When he finally snapped out of it, he was greeted with the sight of a detective dressed in slacks that proudly framed his straining erection and one hand on the doorknob about to leave.

“Sh-Sherlock, you can't leave like that!” John sputtered in shock.

“Well of course I can. Why wouldn't I?”

“Perhaps because it's considered bad form to roam the streets with something like – that.” John gestured one hand towards the other man's crotch. 

“Well what do you propose I do about it, hm? I have no time to try to teach myself the quickest way to get rid of it, as I'm sure you are well experienced with, so the only logical alternative is to wait for it to go away.”

“Wait teach yourself? You mean you've never...” John flailed his arms helplessly in an attempt to convey his message.

“No, I have not. Merely transport. There is no need. Now if you're quite finished, I'll be off.” With that, Sherlock bounded through the door to hail a taxi, leaving a slightly shocked flatmate behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update should be coming soon since I have a bit of time during break to write. Please leave any comments, constructive critisicm, or kudos below, it encourages me alot.


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